An Understanding
by northernexposure
Summary: Chakotay can't stop touching her. A brief episode addition to 'Coda'.


An Understanding

Chakotay can't stop himself touching her. Brief episode addition to 'Coda'.

**A/N: **I guess this is a coda to 'Coda'… It's also a small attempt to explain where things might have started going wrong, before they ever had a chance to go right. Not entirely sure I should post this, but hey ho. Reviews are really appreciated.

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Chakotay can't stop himself touching her. At first it is legitimate – the Captain is so weak that she can hardly stand, so he puts his arm around her to walk her to the shuttle. At once he is both reassured by her radiating warmth and reminded of how deceptively small this woman is. There is no awkward struggle to find the best way to hold her: Janeway simply fits beneath his arm. It occurs to him, in a flash that illuminates the exhausted torrent of his post-crisis thoughts, that they haven't been this close since New Earth. The unbidden memory of those three lost months spears a part of him so deep he knows the wound will never fully heal. The Captain holds on to him too, sliding one arm across his back, her hand gripping the fabric of his uniform. This uncharacteristic display of physical dependence is a reminder of how near they came to losing her completely. How near _he _came.

Once in the shuttle it is Tuvok that flies them back to _Voyager_, because Chakotay can't seem to leave her side. The Doctor makes the Captain sit and fusses over her with the neural generator. Despite the occasional pained groan, Janeway is quiet. She keeps her eyes shut, or, when she opens them, downcast. Chakotay doesn't push her – she is alive and the Doctor now seems confident of her prognosis. Everything else is on hold. It is only when the ship comes into view and the shuttle banks to enter the cargo bay that he realises he's still holding her hand. The EMH doesn't seem to have noticed, or if he has, finds it unremarkable.

Once back on Voyager, there is a brief struggle of wills. The Doctor wants her to go straight to sickbay for more tests; she wants to go to her quarters for a sonic shower and a fresh uniform. Chakotay finds a middle way through the argument by telling the EMH that he will personally accompany Janeway to her quarters, stay with her until she's ready to return, and then escort her back to sickbay so that the Doctor can run his tests. This appeases the hologram, who admits she is no longer in immediate danger, and that her comfort can take priority as long as she's properly supervised in case of relapse.

"Chakotay, you can assign an Ensign to this, or Kes," Janeway says, as they make their way to the turbolift. "It doesn't need to be you."

"I know," he says, but has no intention of leaving. Once in the turbolift, she shuts her eyes again, sagging slightly. Somehow his arm finds its way around her again. Every time he becomes aware of himself, he is touching her. _She's alive_, he tells himself, but it's not enough. Not any more.

When they reach her quarters, she moves away from him. Chakotay doesn't stop her, but the feeling of separation is acute. There is a pang in his heart that borders on fear, and thanks to the events of the day it is not fear of the unknown. He knows precisely of what he is afraid, and why.

"Kathryn. There's something I need to say."

Janeway is standing a few feet away from him. A look of weariness passes her face and she brushes it away with a swipe of her hand before raising her chin in defiance at her own frailty.

Then she says, "Commander, perhaps it would be better to leave this for another time. It's been a difficult day."

"I can't do that."

"Commander Chakotay. I'm tired and dirty. I am sore and I ache. Whatever this is, surely it can wait until I'm back in my ready room."

"Actually, it can't," he tells her, and takes a step forward. The crease that passes across her forehead lets him know she's already fully aware that what's on his mind is not an issue for the ready room.

"Chakotay," she says, in as soft a voice as he has ever heard from her. "I'm fine. I'm here."

He reaches out to touch her again, grasping her forearm and sliding his hand down until he can catch her fingers in his own. He brushes his thumb across her knuckle and says, "But you almost weren't."

Janeway pulls her hand away and straightens her spine. "Stop it. You have to stop this, Commander. That's an order."

"This isn't a command issue, Kathryn."

"The hell it isn't," she exclaims.

"What I mean is, you can't just order me to stop… caring."

She falters at this, her eyes darting away as a fleeting expression crosses her face. It is confusion and wistfulness, it is vulnerability and doubt. It is everything she can never allow herself to dwell on, and it is gone in a second. "Maybe not, but I can remind you of protocol. I can order you not to speak."

They stand in silence for a moment, allowing her words to hang in the space between them.

"You could," he acknowledges, softly. "You could do that. But it won't change anything. It won't change what's there. Not for me."

She looks at him then, her eyes widened to enclose a pain he hadn't intended to cause. "This is…" Janeway shakes her head. "On the planet, when I was – dying. I heard you trying to revive me, Chakotay. I felt…" she stutters slightly, sets her jaw and starts again, her voice harder this time. "I heard your voice, and it was full of despair. I can't allow it. I will not allow it."

"What?" He asks. "You can't allow – what?"

She shakes her head. "I've been there," she says, and though her voice is steady, he can tell from the rough edge in it that she is finding it hard to articulate these words. "The despair I heard in your voice… I recognised it. The feel of it, the weight of it. I know what comes next. It swallows you whole. If you let it bite, it devours you. Then comes the hopelessness, the loss of interest in everything. The black, black void. You can't – _you must not_ – feel that. Not for me, not ever again. Because the same thing could happen tomorrow, Chakotay, and then I may not be so lucky. The same thing could happen to you. One wrong move on an away mission and you could be dead. And I can't –" she falters, shakes her head once, rights herself, goes on. "The crew needs both of us intact. Undistracted. Whole in body and more importantly, in mind. If one of us dies, the other has to go on. For them. Do you understand?"

"I do," he says, and watches as relief crosses her face. She takes a deep breath, smiles, and that's when he says, "but that doesn't change anything, Kathryn. It's too late. It was too late a long time ago. I can't help that."

Janeway blinks. "I can't be in a relationship. Not out here, not with anyone on this ship. Not now, not ever."

"I know," he says. "What I feel is not an obligation. I don't expect anything from you."

"You will," she says. "You think you won't, but you will. It'll turn sour, Chakotay, and that's just as dangerous."

He can't help but smile. "Kathryn Janeway: soothsayer, fortune teller, knower of all things."

"You know I'm right."

"No," he says, "I don't. But it doesn't matter. I can't change the way I feel. All I'm saying is, I want you to know. Because if you had died today, and I hadn't made it clear to you – that's what would have really destroyed me. You're alive, Kathryn Janeway. You're alive, and I am here with you, and that is a most wonderful thing. You are the most wonderful thing." He takes a step forward, and this time she doesn't move away. "Whatever happens from here on, good or bad…"

She reaches out to place one hand flat against his chest, over his heart. "Chakotay," she whispers.

He reaches out with both hands and pulls her to him, tucking her head under his chin, against his chest. It's the only time he has held her for no other reason than that he wanted to, and it feels good. After a moment Chakotay pulls back and looks down at her. She is slow to meet his gaze, perhaps afraid of what is coming next. When she finally does, he kisses her, gently, warmly, stopping when the heat beneath becomes almost too much to resist. When they part, she leans against his chest, her forehead resting where her hand had lain just moments before.

"I can't," she says. "This isn't…"

"I know," he tells her, before she can carry on. "But now you know. Don't you?"

She lifts her head and smiles a watery smile. "Yes, Commander. I guess I do. But now you have to promise me something."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? What's that?"

Janeway pauses and drops her gaze, staring intently at his chest. "You won't let this…" She sighs. "You won't let it loom too large."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

She shakes her head. "Don't… give up the present for a future that may never happen. There are a lot of women you_ can_ be with. And one day you will want to. Don't… not, because of… this."

"Okay," he says slowly, though he can't imagine ever moving from this spot, this person.

"If you don't you will resent me," she says.

"That won't happen."

She looks up at him then, a stern look in her eye. "Don't let it. I can't be worrying about your heart, Commander. Don't make me regret this… interlude. Because I don't want to."

She's serious, and he nods.

Their fingers are the last to separate, as she walks away. He waits patiently while she showers and changes, and then escorts her back to sickbay. He leaves her there and returns to the Bridge. He lets her go, walks away, aware that the fear has gone and is not coming back. He finds himself smiling, though he has no reason to, not really, and he keeps telling himself that.

It doesn't stop him using a replicator ration so that he can take her a rose. It doesn't stop him smiling when he sees that she has bounced back. It doesn't stop the jolt of electricity in his gut when she asks him to sail with her in the moonlight.

But it's fine. She knows, and it's fine. And that's enough. Isn't it?

[END]


End file.
